‘Out of the question,’ said the colonel vehemently. He rose to his feet, towering over Surrender-not. ‘Prince Punit – fine, that can be arranged; but Adhir’s widow, the Princess Gitanjali, that flies in the face of all protocol. The maharanis and princesses, even the royal concubines, cannot be approached, and especially not by you, Wyndham.’
‘Me?’ I replied.
The colonel sat back down and clasped his hands together.
‘In two hundred years of our dealings with the British we have had to accept many things, but the one thing that has always remained inviolable is the sanctity of the zenana. Not just in Sambalpore, but throughout the princely states. The royal women must remain untainted. The late prince was not only my master but also my friend. Nevertheless, I would not request the Maharaja’s permission for you to interrogate a princess of the royal household, even if I thought she’d murdered him herself.’
‘What about Sergeant Banerjee?’ I asked.
Both he and the colonel stared at me.
‘He’s not an Englishman,’ I said, ‘even if he does sound like one. Maybe he could interview the princess? With you in attendance, of course.’
The colonel shook his head. ‘No. It would be impossible without the Maharaja’s express permission, and he would never accept it.’
Surrender-not squirmed in his seat. ‘If I may, sir. It would be inadvisable to ruffle—’
I cut him off.
‘At least ask him.’
‘Why do you want to question her anyway?’ asked the colonel.
Given his rather fervent opposition to the idea, it seemed unwise to tell him that our request was based on the gossip of a rather tipsy Mrs Carmichael, so I did what any good detective would do. I lied.
‘The Yuvraj received two notes, both of which were left in his apartments in the palace. Someone in the royal court was trying to warn him. Maybe his wife knows something about that. We wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t speak to her.’
The colonel sighed, but didn’t protest. That at least seemed like progress. ‘In the meantime, I’d like to examine the prince’s rooms,’ I said. ‘I want to see exactly where the notes were left.’
‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘I’ll organise it. Anything else?’
‘There is a rather delicate matter,’ I said. ‘It’s come to our attention that the prince was having a relationship with a memsahib, a Miss Pemberley. Were you aware of that?’
Arora’s expression darkened. He stared at me and for a moment he had that cold look in his eye, the one I’d seen when I’d first met him on the steps of Government House in Calcutta.
‘Of course I was aware of it. Whom do you think he charged with paying her bills at the Beaumont?’
‘You didn’t think to mention it to us?’ I asked.
‘It was irrelevant to your investigation. And the whole subject is frankly distasteful.’
‘You disapproved of the relationship?’
He paused.
‘You can speak frankly,’ I said.
‘His Highness’s actions were not in the interests of the kingdom,’ he said finally. It was the answer of a diplomat. ‘Now if that’s all,’ he said, rising to his feet.
‘There’s one more thing, Colonel,’ said Surrender-not, hastily retrieving a slim file from his satchel. He opened it, removed the photograph of the assassin’s gun, which was now in an evidence locker at Lal Bazar, and handed it to Arora.
‘Have you seen a revolver like this before, sir? It’s five chambered with a folding trigger that only appears when you cock the pistol. It’s quite distinctive.’
The colonel gave the photograph a cursory glance, then handed it back. ‘It’s a Colt,’ he replied. ‘A Colt Paterson. Obsolete, but effective.’
‘You’ve come across it before, then?’ I said.
He gave a short laugh. ‘I should think so. I used to carry one. For many years they were standard issue to all Sambalpori officers. They were only replaced when we received modern weaponry from the India Office in 1915.
‘Prior to that, your military wasn’t too fond of providing the native states with arms, so we had to procure our weapons from other sources. The United States was one of them.
‘I believe a stock of a hundred of these were purchased in the last century from the Americans. I understand that they once belonged to the Army of Texas, before that state became part of the union. Thereafter, they were used in the American Civil War, before becoming surplus to requirements and eventually being sold to Sambalpore.
‘When the Great War broke out and the maharajas began raising regiments for the British war effort, your government naturally reconsidered its previous policy vis-à-vis arming the native states and replaced all our antiquated firearms with up-to-date weaponry. The Colts were supposed to be handed in, but a significant number went astray.’
‘The smoking gun,’ said Surrender-not quietly.
‘What?’ asked the colonel.
‘This weapon was found on the assassin,’ I said. ‘We think it was the weapon used to murder the prince. That ties the killer back here to Sambalpore.’
It also suggested that either the assassin or whoever had recruited him had some connection to the Sambalpori militia, or had acquired the murder weapon from someone who had.
‘Do you have any idea how many went missing?’ I asked.
‘I can’t say, but there is one man who could tell you.’
‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘Mr Golding.’
The colonel smiled. ‘He’s quite fastidious about stock takes.’
‘See if you can find him,’ I said. ‘Even if he’s changed his mind about speaking to me, I still want to speak to him.’
There was little else we required of the colonel for the present. He made some notes, then left, agreeing to inform us as soon as he’d set up the relevant interviews and arranged for access to the Yuvraj’s quarters.
A few moments later there was a knock on the door. I assumed the colonel had forgotten something. Instead, in stumbled Carmichael.
He was sweating, which wasn’t abnormal given the humidity, but it was the look on his face that worried me.
Surrender-not offered him a chair but he seemed in no hurry to sit down.
‘What can we do for you, Mr Carmichael?’ I asked.
‘I’m afraid there’s a problem,’ he stammered. ‘It really is most distressing.’
He took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and began to mop his brow. ‘I’ve received a cable from Delhi,’ he panted. ‘You have been ordered to leave Sambalpore and return to Calcutta immediately after the cremation today.’
I’d been fearing just such a development ever since Carmichael had informed us of the cable he’d sent. The fact that it had arrived from Delhi, however, and not from Calcutta, offered a glimmer of hope.
‘And does it relate to both of us,’ I asked, gesturing towards Surrender-not, ‘or just me?’
‘It simply says that Captain Wyndham is to be considered persona non grata in Sambalpore and is to return to Calcutta forthwith.’
‘But the Maharaja has asked for the captain’s help,’ Surrender-not protested.
‘I’m only telling you what it says,’ replied the Resident.
‘From whom?’ I asked.
‘What?’ he asked, flustered.
‘Who sent it?’
‘The secretary for native states, of course.’
‘I see,’ I said.
The telegram’s wording, and its source, seemed damning. But I saw a possible way out. The cable had come from the secretary for native states, a man who was part of the Viceroy’s inner circle. He was one of the top men in the Indian Civil Service. However, neither I nor Carmichael reported to the ICS. As an officer of the Imperial Police Force, I reported to my superiors in Calcutta, and he, as British Resident to Sambalpore, reported to the India Office in London.
‘Well,’ I sighed, ‘it certainly looks like you’ve got a problem there.’
/> He stared at me as though I’d just suggested he run through the palace grounds naked. ‘I have a problem?’ he exclaimed.
‘As I see it, what you’ve got is a cable from someone in the ICS, someone neither you nor I report to. I’m here on holiday and, as you know, the Maharaja himself has invited me to indulge my professional curiosity during my stay and observe Sambalpori policing methods.
‘My leaving now would be construed as a gross insult to His Highness, the Sambalpori royal court and possibly the whole Sambalpori nation, especially when I have received no orders from my superiors to do so.’
Carmichael’s shoulders sagged and he finally slumped into the chair that Surrender-not had placed behind him. He looked queasy, as the true nature of the situation dawned on him. I didn’t blame him. He was a career diplomat, a man used to a lifetime of following orders from faceless men on the other end of a telegraph machine. What was he supposed to do when those orders came from someone outside his chain of command and were actively questioned? Carmichael fell back on his training and, like any good diplomat, fudged the issue.
‘I’ll seek clarification,’ he said, ‘but in the meantime, I must insist that you vacate the Residency.’
That was fine by me. Assuming they had any available, the rooms at the Beaumont Hotel were probably a damn sight more comfortable, not to mention the fact that they had electricity.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘If you’re agreeable, we’ll move our possessions out this afternoon, after the Yuvraj’s cremation.’
‘Yes, well,’ he blustered, ‘I suppose that’s acceptable.’
‘Now, if there’s nothing further, the sergeant and I have work to do. I’m sure that you must be quite busy yourself. I imagine you’ll be keeping up the British end at the funeral.’
‘Yes, of course,’ he replied, rising from the chair. ‘As you say, I best be getting on. I’ll bid you both good day and see you there.’
‘It seems someone on high isn’t keen on you being here,’ said Surrender-not, once Carmichael had left.
He was right, and there were two obvious candidates: the Viceroy, who had never really trusted me after the Sen affair the previous year, and the spies of Section H, who to be fair, never trusted anyone. But which of the two – and why – was a mystery. Once again, it suggested that there might be more to this case than religion or local Sambalpori politics. And that was troublesome.
‘Well,’ I replied, ‘we’ve bought ourselves a reprieve, but it won’t take Carmichael long to report back and get the matter clarified. If it’s the Viceroy who’s behind it, I doubt it’ll take even a few hours for him to send the requisite orders to Lord Taggart ordering me back.’
In truth, part of me was almost relieved at the prospect. My failure with cooking the O the previous night had left my nerves rather fraught. The thought of spending a prolonged period in Sambalpore, away from a secure supply of opium, was something I found myself shying away from contemplating.
Surrender-not, though, had other ideas. ‘There might be a way of forestalling him, sir . . .’
TWENTY
‘It’ll never work,’ I said as we ran down the corridor.
‘We’ve nothing to lose by trying,’ replied Surrender-not.
‘We’ll have to hurry,’ I said. ‘Carmichael’s probably on his way over there now.’
We were looking for Colonel Arora’s office. I flung open the first door we came to and barged in, only to find it empty. Cursing, I turned around, just in time for Surrender-not to run smack into me.
‘No one here,’ I said, as I manhandled him back out.
We continued our search, opening the doors of yet more unoccupied offices. It seemed as though the entire floor might be empty. Just as I was beginning to get exasperated, Surrender-not gestured for me to stop.
‘Wait,’ he panted.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You can rest when we reach Arora’s office. And make sure you enrol for the officers’ physical when we get back to Calcutta.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘There may be a smarter way of doing this, sir.’ He went into one of the empty offices, picked up a telephone and spoke to the switchboard operator.
‘I need to speak to Colonel Arora urgently,’ he said. ‘Please put me through to his office.’
I could hear the line ringing on the other end. Then he turned to me and smiled. ‘Colonel Arora,’ he said, ‘Sergeant Banerjee here. I have an urgent request, sir.’
A few minutes later, we were standing in the colonel’s office as he finished a telephone call. He replaced the receiver and stared up at us from behind his desk.
‘It’s done,’ he said. ‘There are two telegraph offices in town: one here at the palace, and the other at the station. Both shall be experiencing technical difficulties for the next hour.’
‘Thank you,’ said Surrender-not.
‘Now, would you mind explaining to me the need for such action?’
Surrender-not looked at me and I nodded for him to continue. There was no good reason to keep the truth from Colonel Arora. More importantly, we hadn’t had time to come up with a plausible lie.
‘Mr Carmichael has received orders from Delhi for Captain Wyndham to return to Calcutta forthwith. Fortunately, due to an administrative error, the orders were received from the civil service and not the police. Mr Carmichael has gone to seek clarification from his superiors. Obviously, until such clarification is received, the captain is at liberty to remain here in Sambalpore . . .’
The colonel turned to me. ‘And why do they want you back in Calcutta, Captain?’
‘They don’t,’ I said. ‘If they did, the cable would have come from police headquarters in Calcutta, not from some pen-pusher in Delhi. They just want me out of Sambalpore.’
‘And why might that be?’
I didn’t know, but I had my suspicions, all of them unhealthy and none of which I particularly wanted to share with the colonel.
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ I shrugged.
‘So, you don’t want Carmichael speaking to Delhi? Why can’t he simply telephone them? There is, I believe, a telephone connection at the Residency?’
‘Official orders need to come in writing, but now that you mention it, it might be nice if his telephone were to be affected too,’ I replied. ‘The monsoon rains might not have reached Sambalpore yet, but I understand that a lot of places between here and the capital are giving Atlantis a run for its money. It stands to reason that the telephone lines somewhere along the way might be down.’
A smile broke out on the colonel’s face. ‘I’ll need authorisation. The Dewan might not approve, but I think His Highness the Maharaja may be agreeable. He enjoys cocking a snook at the British now and again. Indeed, he once presented Mr Carmichael with a golf bag and clubs as a token of Sambalpore’s esteem for its noble Resident. Carmichael seems inordinately proud of it. What he doesn’t know is that the bag is made from the skin of an elephant’s penis. His Highness had it made especially.’
‘Interesting,’ I said. ‘If you manage to delay my recall by a few days, I’ll make sure to challenge him to a game.’
‘You play?’ asked the colonel.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never had the incentive till now.’
The colonel let out a laugh, which was good in that it proved that he actually could.
‘How long would you like Mr Carmichael’s communications issues to continue?’ he asked finally. ‘I can’t cut him off indefinitely. Wars have started on lesser provocations, and I don’t have permission to start a conflict this week. Besides, I would hate to be the man responsible for the end of British rule in India.’
It was my turn to smile. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Mr Gandhi might never forgive you for beating him to it. But please, as long as possible. Ideally a week.’
‘Three days, maximum,’ he replied. ‘But there is a condition.’
‘Name it.’
‘You can never disclose to Mr Carmichael the provenance of
his beloved golf bag.’
‘I think we can manage that,’ I said.
‘In that case,’ he smiled, ‘you may rest assured that for the next seventy-two hours, Mr Carmichael will find it quicker to walk to Delhi than telephone or send a telegram there.’
We were about to return to our office when there was a knock on the colonel’s door. Knock probably wasn’t the right word, though, as it sounded more like someone was taking a hammer to it. The door opened and in stepped a dark-eyed man with a beard as thick as an Axminster carpet. He was dressed in a flowing emerald-green silk tunic, belted at the waist, and carried an envelope which he handed to the colonel.
At a nod from Arora, he turned and stood beside Surrender-not, throwing the sergeant into shade as effectively as if he’d been standing under a tree.
The colonel tore open the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper which he quickly unfolded and read.
‘Well,’ he said, as though unsurprised by the contents. ‘Regarding the meetings you requested, His Highness has refused your request to interview the Princess Gitanjali.’
Beside me, Surrender-not breathed a sigh of relief.
‘What about Prince Punit?’ I asked.
‘His Highness has voiced no objections to that.’
‘Well, that’s a start, I suppose.’
Arora pursed his lips. ‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘The Yuvraj is leaving on a hunting expedition tomorrow. He has his brother’s cremation to attend today. I doubt he’ll make the time to see you.’
‘He’s going hunting straight after his own brother’s funeral?’
The colonel nodded. ‘It seems the hunt was scheduled to commence yesterday. The prince has been forced to delay his departure by over a day and is in no mood to extend it any further.’
That was interesting. When my own half-brother, Charlie, had been killed during the war, I fell into a black slough of despondency for weeks, and I’d hardly known the boy. Hunting wouldn’t have been high on my list of priorities.
A Necessary Evil Page 14
